Reigning Hell
by Winters Kiss
Summary: Two years after the war Harry has a new, not so self righteous, life until an old enemy shows up in town. Harry forms an uneasy alliance to battle a new evil in the wizarding world.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: No I don't own J/K Rowling…umm obviously…. I also don't own any of her characters and what not…wish I did cause then I would have lots of money…and then I could shop…and shop more…. and more…

_**Better to Rule in Hell, then Serve in Heaven**_

- John Milton

Cutting his way through the crowd Harry took no notice of the clamorous throng that surrounded him. His frozen green eyes made people step quickly out of his way, giving him a clear path along the crowded street. Seemingly unaware of his disturbing impact on the people he flicked his hair out of his eyes and disappeared down a dark alley, blending into the shadows. His form fitting black clothing helped the shadows to embrace him as he strode his way through the darkness. Forcing his mind to be completely blank he pushed aside a cold metal door and stepped through the doorway into a hazy blue, smoke filled room. The bar quickly fell silent as he made his way across the room to a table in the back corner.

He smirked, knowing the reaction, without turning to look at the still men that surrounded him. He was immediately recognized, but not for the lightening scar that had been his signature as a child. As a man he was distinguished by the tattoo of a snake, poised to strike, that coiled around his neck. He revelled in the fact that they gazed at him in a fearful respect, and not for salvation.

Typically in his business men were unobtrusive and bland. The kind of men that could frequent one place and no one would realize that they had seen them before. It was safest that way. Harry's reputation, however, preceded him and he was feared too much for anyone in the same business to oppose him. No one would ever openly support him, but they would deal with him, knowing that he always completed his job. The men's fear separated Harry from them, and elevated him above the other men, which gave him a power over them.

The table that Harry headed for had one man sitting perched on a chair. The man remained calmly seated when Harry made it across the room, but his eyes were darting everywhere other then at the man towering above him.

"Spider." Harry's voice lashed against the silence of the bar. The man cringed and raised his head to look into Harry's eyes that were now blazing green flames. The man, Spider, quailed under the fury for only a moment before turning to stare at the empty beer bottle in front of him.

"Spider, I seem to believe that we had a deal," a deep patient breath, "now why would that be, since I have no evidence of this deal ever being executed?" Harry remained motionless, voice calm, only his eyes were betraying his anger. "Why would that be?"

Without warning the empty beer bottle smashed to the ground, as in a flurry of motion, Spider lunged for the exit and overturned the table. The men stared as, without appearing to have moved, the space where Harry had stood was empty and he had Spider pushed up against a wall. Smiling grimly Harry slammed his fist into Spiders face, snapping his head back.

"I don't remember excusing you from our little conversation," hissed Harry, "We still have a lot to chat about." Spider silently shook his head and struggled to escape Harry's grip. Barely struggling to keep the man pinned in place the bitter smile slipped off of Harry's face to be replaced by a careless, unfeeling mask. "No? Well, I suppose that means then, that you're just wasting my time."

_ It's okay Harry, you have to do it, and they expect it. Besides, after all the lives you've saved, you will never do enough evil to tip the scales against you. This is your right. Your due. Take it._

The men stood unmoving in fear as they watched Harry pummel the man now huddled whimpering at his feet. He had slipped slowly down the wall leaving a smear of blood, deep red against it. With a final slam of his foot into the mans stomach, forcing Spider to cry out, Harry spun on his heel to exit the bar as silently as he had entered.

He froze mid step as the sound of police sirens came piercing through the walls. His breath caught in his throat as a cloud of anger took over his visage of calm.

"Who called the cops?" his voice came out strangled and hoarse. Slowly he turned to stare at the men. "Who the fuck called the cops?" It was an unspoken rule, that no one ever called the cops on him. He was untouchable, if he decided to do something he was never questioned, and no one ever made a move to prevent him. That was the way it was done, the way it had always been done. The bar became silently suffocating, the men afraid to breath under the force of Harry's anger.

Diving to pull the door open, and get out of there before the cops made it, he was forced back as the door slammed open in his face. Three cops stood looking down at Harry, who had fallen to the ground, with their guns focused on his head. Glancing past them Harry could see more cops standing on guard just beyond the door, shifting uncomfortably in the shadows of the alley. There was no way he would be able to put up a fight against all of them and escape. He sighed resigned, not to being caught, but to waiting for a more opportune moment for escape.

"Mr. Potter." The man standing directly in front of Harry barked out his name, so well known as it was amongst the authorities. Harry rolled his eyes to himself as the cop listed of his felonies and said all the bullshit about his rights. The cop finally done Harry stood up and bitterly put his hands in front of him to be cuffed. He knew there was no one to help him out of prison, any social ties he'd ever had he had broken long ago. People owed him favours, but if he were behind bars people's fear of him would gradually fade. They would feel safe, and that was something he could not afford to happen.

_They don't feel safe now though, so who was brave…stupid enough to call the cops?_

Not aware he had asked the question out loud Harry hesitated half way out the door as a strangled laugh escaped the limp form of Spider. Struggling to sit up, Spider pushed himself up against the wall, and glanced mockingly towards Harry.

"Who do you think called them?" The words ripped themselves out of his hoarse throat, "There's a new player in town, and he really doesn't like you," he shook his head to himself and mumbled, "sure doesn't like you at all."

Unsure of how to react Harry was startled to be hauled through the doorway by two of the cops, who looked terrified simply standing near him. Harry bared his teeth in the semblance of a grin and both cops flinched visibly, hands moving towards their guns. To their obvious surprise Harry calmly allowed them to place him in the back of a cop car and didn't say a word as they drove away from the bar. However he could not prevent his hands from shaking as the door closed and he was completely trapped within the car, completely powerless.

A/N: oooooh you're still here… yay you! I know its short…but I wanted to post it…I know whats gonna happen and I was gonna make it longer but, again, I wanted to post it…. Anyways please review… If you did it would be frickin awesome…and I would love you forever…yes, I mean you….


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: No I don't own J/K Rowling…umm obviously…. I also don't own any of her characters and what not…wish I did cause then I would have lots of money…and then I could shop…and shop more…. and more…

A/N: Thank you to my reviewer…I heart you…I wasn't going to update…well mainly cause I'm in school…but really what are the chances I'll fail a course I already failed once…maybe a lot…but here's an update anyways…

He was trembling trying to hold himself together as he could feel the bars of his prison cell closing in him, leaving him alone with himself. Alone with only his thoughts to keep him company, and that was place that he didn't want to go. A place he had avoided for so many years.

He acted, but was never one much for pre thinking, he went off his baser instincts, and followed where they led him. He had allowed himself to go numb for years. Emotions were not something he could waste his time bothering with. Except for anger. And hatred. Those were simple emotions, they required nothing more then letting go of all self-control.

Guilt, that was a one he could remember so well from his childhood. Every time another person died, someone that millions of people had expected him to save, their hope became his guilt. Only a child, they called him the "chosen one" but he did not have the strength to save the world. It was merely a lightening shaped scar that separated him from the others fighting in the war, nothing more.

He could remember so clearly the day that he had released all guilt, let it go, and watched it soar into the sky, dragging a piece of his soul with it. Zero regrets. Really regret was simply guilt, in another form. So many ways in which to make people feel worse about themselves, to make them feel worse about the world.

Looking back he focused in on that conversation five years previous, one of the first conversations that he'd had in the muggle world after the war. How it started he couldn't remember the way it often went with his memories. Fragments of life confused and melded together in his mind.

"Boy, you alright?" An old decrepit man slowly lowered himself onto a crooked bench where Harry was lying huddled, cold and lost. He could remember, tears had been pouring down his face, it had been a time when he had allowed himself to feel, when he could feel emotions rendering him apart from within.

Choking back his tears Harry tried to pull himself up straight and turned to look at the man that had seated himself at a comfortable distance on the other end of the bench. Silently Harry shook his head. Really there was no point in lying, his hair was matted, he hadn't showered in weeks, and there were still rust coloured bloodstains on his clothing. Tears tracked their way unchecked through the grime staining his face and his once vibrant green eyes were dull with fatigue.

The man stared at Harry through his filmy eyes for a long minute and shook his head like you before. On the streets alone, it's not safe you hear?" Harry only nodded, already deciding he didn't care what this stranger had to say, what difference would it make? Some man telling him that he wasn't safe didn't magically change his situation. He was still on the streets, there was still no one who cared, and he still had nowhere to go.

Cackling the man pushed a breath of foul smelling air into Harry's face. He grimaced and pushed aside the urge to gag and gasp for a breath of sharp fresh air. "Guilt. That's what got me here, my boy. I was no good making a hard living on the streets since everything I did made me feel like shit. No to make it on the streets you have to be cold. You don't look like that type to me." He fell silent and gazed back into a life that Harry would never see, and truthfully didn't care to.

"No, eventually I realized that guilt was a useless emotion, but by then it was to late for me. It takes, and it takes, and in the end it will give you nothing back but suffering. Eventually I realized that guilt isn't even an emotion, it is a weakness. Plain and straight. It is merely a fear of what you believe others will think of you for what you did-or didn't do. It's not that you actually give a damn, otherwise you wouldn't have done it -or would have done, I suppose- in the first place." He paused seeming to forget that he was speaking to another person, lost in his own thoughts. His opinions formed from lonely bitter years on the streets. Muttering to himself the man pushed himself to his feet and stumbled away, his parting words carrying back to Harry, "just a useless waste of time. A weakness."

Harry stayed on the bench for a long time contemplating the bitter old mans words. Not much of one to go off of the ravings of strangers Harry felt that the man had a point. And Harry did not want to be weak. There was no way he would ever allow himself to become the old man in the park, rambling to crying boys on benches about guilt.

So with a sigh of relief he let his guilt go along with the weight of thousands of lives. And he let it die.

Harry came back into himself five years later, sitting alone in a prison cell, and still he felt no regret. With guilt he would have died in days. The streets would have killed him more thoroughly, and more painfully, than the war ever could have.

He thought about that day and he laughed out loud. The bitter laugh of a man faced with no hope and no future. He thought about why he had been on that bench and allowed his memories to carry him further back, before that day. To the time of a different war, in which he fought on a very different side. When he was a completely different person. He had to have been.

It was the last day of the war. It was finally over. Harry walked off the battlefield, Bloody and limping, but otherwise physically unharmed. So many dead. But the war was over. They had done it, Voldemort was defeated, and his army was vanquished. If he weren't more exhausted then he ever would have believed it was possible to be, and still be living, he would have shouted in exaltation.

Limping towards the castle he heard the cheers, even those who had lost everything could find hope in this moment of triumph. Wincing in pain he held his head high as he made his way toward the castle. Held it high in pride. He had ended the war.

Unsure of where to find Ron he headed to the infirmary where he knew Hermione would be tending to the wounded. Ron would know to look for both of then there. Harry began to walk faster. He could already see the pride shining in Hermione's eyes and Ron eagerly telling him he knew that he would do it all along.

He strode through the heavy wooden doors and walked into the room, the groans of the wounded barely dampening his excitement. Glancing around he walked over to Parvarti, who had taken over as nurse when Madame Pomfrey had been killed tending the wounded on the front lines.

"Have you seen Hermione?" she barely glanced at him and he could see the premature wrinkles creasing her face and the exhaustion in her eyes. For her the war was a long way from being finished. She tilted her head towards a private cot then moved on to the next wounded with a bucket of soapy water and gauze. Sometimes the muggle methods worked better then their own.

Harry winced. Only the fatally wounded or extremely important people were given curtained cots. There simply wasn't enough room for everyone. The memory of McGonagalls lifeless form surrounded by the crisp white curtains held him back. After several moments he put aside his fear and pushed aside the curtains.

Pushed aside the curtains and felt his world tumble down. His mind spun, he was unable to breathe, until he pushed his way through the fog back to sanity.

Hermione was sprawled on the floor, her head resting on the lifeless form, her long brown hair spread over the body with a red sheen from the blood still seeping out of the wound. She shook, heaving great sobs that seemed to shake her entirely.

"No." It was all Harry could say. He couldn't form words. Couldn't form thoughts. They had all made it through the war together. The war was over. He wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to congratulate Harry, and smile his foolish grin. The grin that Harry would never see again. The laugh he would never hear. The hands that would never again clap him on the back, never again beat him at chess.

"Oh. Oh Ron," he sobbed.

Hermione turned then, lifted her head as if it was the hardest thing she had ever done, and Harry looked into her eyes. They were completely dry, and dead inside. Completely empty and emotionless. He moved to comfort her but suddenly she seemed to realize he was there and a feral glint appeared in her eyes. So much hatred and blame, all of it directed at Harry. And with an earth shattering shock he finally understood.

Stretching out his arm he watched, completely unsurprised, as she shrunk away from his touch, and he allowed his hand to fall, trembling, to his side. It was so worthless, so insignificant but he tried anyways. "I'm sorry." He choked out the words and felt a great weight fall in the pit of his stomach. Her eyes remained hard and unforgiving. Silent she dismissed Harry and turned back to Ron, taking the limp pale hand in her hard callused ones.

As he turned to leave he heard her voice raw filled with pain and emotion. "I loved him. You let him die and I loved him." She fell silent as Harry tore through the curtains and ran down, and out of the infirmary.

Unable to control his sobs he slid against the door that had just slammed closed behind him and he fell to the floor. "I'm so sorry," he whimpered into the empty corridor. Knowing that it would never be enough.

Because he finally understood. Everyone had not just expected him to end the war; they had expected him to save everyone. To keep every single person from dying. Every life lost had not been blamed on the enemy, it had been blamed on Harry.

Every death was his fault, they didn't want him to be "the boy who lived". They wanted him to save every person. End the war without a single person being harmed. He was the one who was supposed to die.

They did not look at him with admiration. They looked at him with hate.

They hated him for living. Every single one of them.

Exhausted Harry lay down on the cold bench in his prison cell. After his realization he has left the wizarding world immediately, no one wanted him there. The war was over, and he was no longer needed. He disappeared, and truthfully he doubted anyone had ever tried to find him.

Feeling true agony for the first time since that fateful day on the bench he closed his eyes and tried to stem the flow of memories.

He had never mourned Ron. His best friend.

He had never been given the chance.

His sleep seemed to last mere moments before he was woken by a sharp pain in the side. Groggily opening his eyes the shape standing over him began to take on a very familiar form. Looking suspiciously healthy for his beating earlier in the day he smirked. "Boss wants to see you," said Spider standing in the middle of Harry's cell with a wand in his hand.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: No I don't own J/K Rowling…umm obviously…. I also don't own any of her characters and what not…I wish I did…cause then I would be uber cool. That's right. Uber.

A/N: This is really short. I'm sorry. But I wanted to update cause, well, I don't really know, and I have to finish before the O.C. comes on. The O.C. is very important.

"What the hell are you doing here?" hissed Harry as he pulled himself up onto his elbows to stare at Spider. He shook his head, hoping that Spider was just some sort of prison nightmare that would vanish as quickly as it had appeared.

No such luck.

Hold on a second. Why was he holding a wand, "Where the hell did you get a wand? You're a muggle."

Harry knew that asking questions was a sign of weakness. What he needed to do was stay calm and just take control of the situation. He'd spent the last three years learning how to control men like Spider. They fell in line as soon as they knew who was in command. Just stay calm.

"What the fuck is going on!" Nice going Harry. You sure showed him whose boss. The slow chuckle and cool stare from the man Harry had beaten bloody previously during the day was not helping the situation. He wasn't used to being off balance. He was always in control. He needed to be in control. Everyone had used him as a child and he had vowed to himself that he would never be treated as a pawn again. He wasn't about to break that vow for a street junkie like Spider.

This "street junkie" towered over Harry with a wand pointed directly at his heart. Not that it really mattered. Two simple words and a wand pointed within Harry's general vicinity would leave him just as dead as a wand pointed at his heart. But it was the class of the action that mattered. A wand pointed at his left earlobe wasn't nearly as alarming.

Seeing Harry's eyes fixated on the wand Spider took a few steps back and slipped the wand into some hidden coat pocket. Gangster style. The extra room allowed Harry to pull himself into a sitting position. Not enough room to stand. That would just give him an advantage, and the way his day had been going, he highly doubted that was about to happen.

"Look at the famous Harry Potter. He disappeared from the wizarding world three years ago and now- stuck in a prison cell. You planning on staying 'til you rot? 'Cause with all the shit the authorities have on you that's the way it's gonna go," Spider looked as if he wouldn't like anything better.

Harry stared grimly at the chipped porcelain toilet sitting in the corner of the room. His eyes followed the drops of water that made their way slowly to stain the hard cement floor.

"Gee, no need to worry about me Spider. I'm quite enjoying it here. I only wish I had a nice butch cellmate to call me hunny bunny, maybe one with a nice tattoo of a heart with the word 'mom'." He left a nice pause. Perfect timing was another thing he loved. "And, oh yeah, I don't have to deal with losers like you." Well at least until you appear in my secure prison cell waking me up by waving your stick in my face. He opted to keep that part to himself. Sighing he raised his eyes to gauge Spider's mood.

He was pissed. Harry had never understood why people seemed so surprise when they insulted someone, and then were insulted in return. They seemed to expect Harry to take everything silently and patiently. Harry would leave that to the men that had misplaced their balls.

Spider merely smiled. It went nowhere near his eyes. Perhaps it was just a twitch of his lips. "Now, now Harry. You don't want to do pissing off the man who has the capability to get you out of this place. He pulled the wand out of whatever mysterious place it had vanished to and flourished it, taking in the cell. "No matter how much you love it here. I mean the view is absolutely stunning." Harry winced and avoided glancing up at the tiny hole in the wall that let in light for about five minutes of the day.

Although he stayed in the same slouched position, Harry was suddenly paying rapt attention to what Spider was saying. What was it he had said when he had appeared? 'Boss wants to see you.' That was it. Who the hell was Spiders boss? As far as Harry was aware he never worked for anyone other then small deals to keep enough cash to keep up his habit. And he never worked for anyone enough so that they would have any right of claiming him. Spider had always been careful about staying his own man.

"Enough chatting," Barked Spider, "it's time to go."

Harry considered his options. Well, considering it was rot in prison for the rest of his life, or take a chance going wherever the hell Spider was taking him he would go with the latter. He really had been joking about wanting a cellmate. Harry shuddered. And that was bound to happen sooner or later.

However the choice was not as easy as it seemed. Harry had completely avoided the wizarding world for three years, and he doubted spider had a wand if he was taking him back to the muggle's. He may not be ready to rejoin the wizarding world, but he doubted that he ever truly would be. And it was that or prison.

He took a deep breath and one last glance around the cell. Not to remember it, but to remind himself why he was leaving himself at the mercy of a man who probably had quite a grudge against him. "All right then, lets go." Spider stepped forward, placed a callused hand on Harry's shoulder, and dissaperated them out of the cell.

When Harry had his bearings and the nausea had passed he took in his surroundings. He was in a very classy office that was furnished in green and silver. He glanced in surprise as spider silently slipped out of the door and left Harry completely alone in the room.

Wait. Green and Silver. That was slytherins colours. Oh god let this be some sort of horrible coincidence. He could think of only one person who would leave school and actually decorate their house in their old school colours. On that thought he spun as he heard the door swing open behind him.

Leaning casually against the doorframe with his dirty blonde hair hanging in his ice blue eyes Malfoy smirked at Harry. Cringing Harry waited as Malfoys eyes slowly took in his stunningly flattering jumpsuit, and greasy hair. Really the result of having just spent a night in a prison cell. "Hello Potter. Missed me?"


End file.
